They had been driving for about ten minutes in complete silence, with Dean gunning the engine and roaring through the night. Dean�s expression was unreadable, but his brow was furrowed and he gripped the wheel with both hands, like he wanted to choke it.

It was dicey, but� if they didn�t start talking now, the not-talking thing had the potential to last for a very long time, especially if Dean was upset. And Sam didn�t feel like being on bad terms with Dean. Not right now. So Sam ventured, �Where are we going?�

�As far away from that crazy bitch as possible,� Dean bit out.

�You really think Meg survived the fall?�

Dean took a moment to look away from the road and shoot Sam a glare that said he thought Sam was being a fucking idiot.

�Right,� said Sam. He twisted around and felt around the backseat blindly for the first-aid kit. He popped it open and poured hydrogen peroxide on a pad of cotton.

Dean hissed, flinching a little, as Sam reached across and began cleaning the huge gashes in his forehead. �It can wait,� Dean said.

�You want them to get infected? Just keep your eyes on the road.� Sam used his free hand to flip on the interior light.

�You should take care of yourself first. Yours are worse.�

�It�ll only take a second.� Sam was only slightly alarmed at how much blood was seeping into the cotton pad. They had experienced worse. But this was still pretty bad. Dean�s gashes probably weren�t deep enough to require stitches, but Sam had seen his own in the side mirror, and he suspected his might.

In no time, the pad was heavy, soaked through with dark red blood. Sam pulled out another cotton pad to clean off the remaining mess from Dean�s face, crooking his arm over Dean�s head to reach the other side.

Dean took this all in stoic silence, but the tension still there, all over him. Bunched muscles and storm-cloud eyes and thin-lipped impatience. He gripped the wheel in that disturbing white-knuckled death hold.

Sam rubbed a thumb over the worry lines creasing Dean�s forehead. �What is it?�

�Nothing.� Dean noticeably forced himself to relax.

Biting off a strip of medical tape, Sam said, �Not nothing. Is it Dad?� He paused, trying to figure out how to tape up the other side of Dean�s face. �Can you pull over for a sec? I need to get to the other side.�

Dean pulled off the highway and onto the shoulder, jolting the Impala on the rumble strips before slowing down and parking. He tilted his face towards Sam obediently.

�So?� Sam finished taping the cotton pad in place.

�So what?�

�Is it about Dad?�

�No.� Dean took the first-aid kit from Sam�s lap and gestured for Sam to turn to face him. Sam did. Dean poured the hydrogen peroxide onto another pad. They only had two left in the kit. �No, it�s not that.�

�You didn�t want to separate. I know you didn�t. So why did you say that? He might�ve let us come if you had backed me up.� Sam sucked in a breath through his teeth at the contact of the pad against his cheek. Shit, that stung.

�We�re a liability, Sam. He can�t do his job if he has to watch out for us. So it doesn�t matter what I want. We know the demon is after Dad. Really after him. I don�t care if we�re not together if it means he stays alive.� Dean made a face. �Dude, I need to stitch this.�

�I know. See how happy I look?�

Dean rolled his eyes. �Get in the backseat.�

In the overcast, pitch-black night, the cars rushed by them, heedless of the two guys getting into the backseat of a Chevy on the side of the road. Maybe it was a common thing in Chicago, who knew? Dean crawled into the opposite end and Sam stretched out on the seat, head in Dean�s lap and legs hanging out of the car. They had done this before, but not recently, and it had worked better when Sam was shorter.

Sam had a brief glimpse of Dean�s face above him, serious and still sort of angry, before a piece of cloth covered his face. The cloth had a square cut out of it, to reveal the wounds that needed stitching.

The first time Dean had done this, he had taken forever, but the process went quickly now, like clockwork, as Dean pinched and sewed the thread. Tying off one knot after another after another. Sam�s face felt like it was on fire, but the pain now would be better than looking like he�d been mauled. Dean�s stitching had gotten so good it barely left a scar.

�So if it isn�t Dad, then what is it?� Sam had to keep talking, if only to ignore the pinch of the pliers holding his skin closed, then the bite of the curved needle. It was better that he couldn�t see, anyway.

�I just. I hate running.� Dean�s voice took on a fierce edge of vehemence, but his hands were as gentle and steady as ever. �I fucking hate it. We left that bitch and her little demons behind without doing anything. Just turned tail and ran. She�s not going to give up on us, Sam. Doesn�t matter if we move to fucking Mexico.�

Sam murmured, �I hate it, too. But what was the other option? Stay and get killed?�

Dean didn�t answer, and that worried Sam.

�Dean. If the only options are run or die, please run.�

�Fucking great options.�

�I�m serious, Dean. I don�t� Jesus. Just. I worry enough about you.� Sam wondered if the only reason Dean actually left tonight was because he and Dad had been there. If it had been Dean alone, facing down Meg� would he have left at all? Or would he have kept on fighting?

�You!� Dean laughed, short and harsh and not amused at all. The needle stopped. �You worry about me?�

�Well, yeah. What do you think? Damn, Dean, I am your brother.� Sam twitched the cloth off of his face. Dean was looking down at him with� God, with that face. That face that Sam rarely ever saw, but he hated to see. Every time he saw that expression on Dean� something inside Sam died.

�I know that.� Dean looked away. He took a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol and gently wiped down the stitches. �I�m done.�

Sam tried to crack a smile. Fuck, his face hurt. �How do I look?�

�Like a million bucks, Frankenstein.�

This would be the part where Sam would get up and they would continue on their way, but Sam didn�t feel like moving. Dean�s lap was a comfortable pillow under his head.

Dean jabbed a finger at Sam�s forehead. �Dude, what? My legs are falling asleep here.�

�I just.� Sam felt like he had to say something. What had happened before at the motel� It didn�t end right. He knew that. It took a lot for Dean to open up and say all that, and� �Dean. You know. I�m never going to. I mean. I�ll always be here for you.�

�Christ, Sam, if you don�t stop fucking patronizing me I swear I will shoot you.� Dean shifted, lifting his knees. �Get off of me.�

Sam sat up, but turned around to face his brother. �I�m not patronizing you. Jesus, Dean, sometimes you�re so�! I mean it. Whether or not you want me to be. Distance doesn�t mean anything. We�re still � We�re always going to be��

Dean held up a hand, an indication to stop. �It�s all right, Sam. I know.�

But something in Dean�s eyes still looked so angry, so� off. Sam held up his own hand. Laced their fingers together. �Do you really?�

Dean stared at their twined fingers. He squeezed Sam�s hand. Offered a sort of half-smile, and Sam was ridiculously relieved to see it. �I guess.�

�Good enough.� Sam squeezed back, then let go.

The End